


I look into your eyes, we stand worlds apart

by thunderfcknroad



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: au where jons a sailor and martin is a sea mist ghost!, do with that what you will, i know so very little about boats, martin is dead for like a bunch i guess but it ends happy, self indulgent use of sea shanties, tim makes a brief appearance as does sasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21513976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderfcknroad/pseuds/thunderfcknroad
Summary: Jon wasn't supposed to last more than a week at sea, but 4 months later and he is still sticking it out. The folk tales speak of a mist that can roll around and drag you to the bottom of the sea.Jon is surprised to find that the mist seems to be a lot more lonely than he had anticipated and with every kind action, Jon seems to be drawing something he cannot comprehend closer to the world of humanity.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 25
Kudos: 202





	1. Angler

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the TMA writers discord for the prompt on this fic I have used up every single ounce of boat knowledge I had and some I didn't have to churn this out for you guys <3

There are tales of a fog that kills. They say the fog has hands that claw at your skin and eyes that drive you mad and then it swallows you whole. They say it can take whole crews, whole ships, without leaving so much as a ripple on the ocean.

Jon doesn’t believe what they say. They also said he was too weak to last a week at sea yet here he is, sitting in his cramped bunk with his knees pulled up to his chest and four pairs of socks on, shivering in the night as his fourth month at sea rolls to a close. He grips a quill in his shaking hand, a bottle of ink is clenched precariously between his two knees. He scribbles the days events frantically in his journal even though he is trembling too much for his handwriting to be legible.

He wouldn’t mind the cold so much if he wasn’t also damp the entire time. He figures that, as long as he can keep his extremities warm enough, he should be fine. He needs his fingers and toes to stay on his body so he can remain useful to the crew. It doesn’t really matter if he coughs up a lung as long as he can still climb the rigging one more time. He plays through the list of tasks he has to do tomorrow so he can’t get it wrong and he closes his journal.

The candle on his bedside table shifts slightly as the boat jolts a little. Jon screws the cap back on the ink and blows out the flame.

He hears the door open and he knows he is out of time. It’s his watch shift. He pulls on an extra coat and drags himself up the stairs to the deck. Sasha gives him a cheery wave from where she’s standing by the wheel. He nods awkwardly in her direction. He would offer to take a turn at manning the wheel but both he and Sasha know that is probably not a good idea.

He wanders over to the edge of the boat and stares out over the vast, rocking sea. It’s cold but it’s not cloudy. The stars overhead twinkle, reflected in the water around him, and Jon can’t help think that, if the sea were still, it might look like he was floating in the middle of one massive night sky.

He’s so lost in thought he doesn’t even notice the first tendrils of mist when they wrap around his wrists. Then he loses the feeling in his fingers and the panic overcomes him. _Don’t lose your extremities._ He tries to pull his hands away and into his pockets but something is holding them in place. He blinks and looks down. The tendrils of mist have turned to ghostly hands and when he looks back up there is a faded, translucent face. The only thing about it that aren’t ghostly are its eyes.

The eyes flicker between all the colours of the ocean. Sometimes they are black as the darkest trench, other times they are the clear blue of shallow rockpools on a sunny day. Jon is transfixed for a second but then he remembers his hands. The cold, numb feeling has spread to his elbow and he whimpers. This is how he’s going to go. At the hands of an old folk tale that no one will believe. Another nameless sailor to strike hearts into the fear of children. He should be more scared. But he figures, he should have been more scared when he first heard the story. There’s no point in catching up with a lifetime of fear in his last moments.

“Your eyes, can they show me the stars?”

For a moment the eyes of the ghost’s eyes flash to the same faded grey as the rest of its body and it looks confused. The cold recedes a couple of millimetres. When the ghost’s eyes flash to colour again they are an eerie black. Jon doesn’t know where it comes from but he begins to feel frustrated.

“I said the stars. The lights in the sky? Please I just want to see them one last time and you can take my stupid cold soul to its watery grave.”

The ghost seems to falter at that. The cold recedes a little further and he can now feel most of his forearms. The eyes flash grey for a split second again before returning to the inky black. Jon is about to protest again when the ghost tilts its head and a tiny wavering glowing light appears in the middle of the darkness.

Jon is about to get frustrated again when he realises what is happening. The ghost’s eyes have shown him every possible colour of the sea. The sea itself cannot see the sky reflected upon it.

_It is trying to make the sky from what it knows of the sea._

Jon is reminded of his earlier thoughts about the sea and sky melting into one and he feels sadness.

And pity.

Jon is confused by that feeling more than anything. This ghost is trying to take him to an early grave and Jon is feeling… pity for it? He balls his fists up and is surprised to find he can mostly feel his fingers again.

He quickly yanks his wrists from the ever-loosening grip of the ghost and shoves them deep into his pockets. He does a mental tally of his fingers. _Ten_.

The ghost stares at him. He feels arms wrap around his torso and pull him back onto the boat. He can see the ghost in full now. The shape of its body fluctuates and shimmers as the mist begins to pull away but Jon is certain it is human in shape and size. The face that surrounds the shimmering eyes is slightly clearer than the rest of the body and there are misty wisps of hair that blow around its ears in a non-existent wind. The face is soft and kind and Jon can easily make out a mouth that is turned down in a sad frown.

There is something so sad about the creature that Jon can’t even begin to understand. The last thing to disappear are those eyes. They are still an inky black and that eerie pulsing light hangs in the air as they disappear, before it too, vanishes into the night.


	2. Algae

The next morning, Jon wakes to see light already pouring through the small round window of the crew’s quarters. He swears loudly and stumbles up to the deck, pulling on his books and coat has he goes. The ship is already jumping to life. He keeps his head down and goes to do the first task on his list.

When he gets there, he finds a very smug looking Tim waiting for him.

“Sasha said you might try and get up.”

Jon gawks slightly before correcting himself. “I’m fine, Tim. I just want to carry on as normal and not think about it.”

Something close to recognition flashes across Tim’s face for a second and he slings an arm over Jon’s shoulders. “I get that but there’s not really much that can go against the superstition of Sailors. So, you get 24 hours in bed. Use it wisely.”

Jon sighs in defeat. Sailors are a superstitious, stubborn lot and Tim is right. He trudges back down the stairs to his bunk. He kicks his shoes off and flops down, back into the blankets. He retrieves his journal from under his pillow and his pen and ink from his bag.

He stares at the blank page. He doesn’t know if he wants to write it down. He doesn’t know if he even can. How is he supposed to find the words to describe this? Folk stories had tried but they had never come close. The tales tell of hands that claw at your skin but not of hands that grip your wrists like they are begging to not be alone. They tell of eyes that drive you mad but not of the eyes so full of longing. Longing for connection and understanding.

Jon doesn’t realise he is crying until the tears hit the page. He wipes them away with the heel of his hand and accidentally smudges the ink on the paper.

_There is ink on the paper._

Jon didn’t even realise he was writing. He reads back over his words. They are mostly his train of thought. Maybe the flashing eyes of the ghost really have driven him mad and the sailors are right, he should take his 24-hour rest.

He doesn’t sleep, though that is mostly due to the shouting and singing and general noise from upon the deck more than anything else. He lies in his bunk with the covers pulled tight around him until darkness starts to fall again. He waits up until Tim goes up to the deck for watch before pulling out his journal and carefully sneaking up the stairs.

The cold of the night rattles through him but it is quite welcome after being stuck below for the whole day. Tim catches his eye and frowns. Jon lifts his journal slightly and sends a silent message of “Please leave me be” which Tim must understand because his face softens and he nods.

Jon breathes a sigh of relief and finds a corner of the ship Tim can’t see, behind some crates, and sits on the ground. He opens his journal and goes to read his last entry. He still doesn’t remember writing it but the words are definitely his. He was thinking them at the time. His vision starts to go foggy at the edges and he thinks he must be getting tired. As he pushes himself up, though, he sees that it is not, in fact, his vision that is foggy. There is a soft mist surrounding him on the deck.

In front of him, stands the ghost.

Jon steps backwards instinctively and trips over the crates, sprawling backwards onto the deck. He stares up in fear as the ghost floats above him. Jon stares up into those endless changing eyes until they stop changing. They go grey for a second and then they light up.

Jon has only seen it once in the four months he’s been at sea but it’s a sight he will never forget and he recognises it immediately.

The ghost’s eyes are lit up in the colour of a dark night sea which is shining and glowing with bioluminescent algae.

Jon instinctively reaches for the ghost in awe but his hand passes straight through its face. In that moment of distraction, though, Jon’s eyes flicker away from the ghost’s eyes and he notices that it is smiling.

Jon can’t help but smile back.

_It is trying to show me the stars._

Jon actually lets out a low chuckle. It’s not malicious by any means. He’s just so amused by the ridiculousness of the whole situation. This ghost is a force of nature itself. It is feared by sailors across the globe and terrifies young children. And it is trying to impress him by grappling with the concept of the sky.

John pushes himself up onto his elbows and pulls his legs under him to sit.

“Almost. The algae are very pretty you are right but they are not the stars. Stars are bright and they twinkle and shine in a way that the algae don’t.” Jon falters. The hopeful smile falls from the ghost’s face and its eyes flash back to a dull grey. If Jon didn’t know any better, he would have said it looked like it was about to cry.

“It’s still beautiful though. Thank you.”

The ghost smiles again and reaches its hands out to Jon’s. Jon just laughs nervously and backs away.

“Sorry, no. I said the stars.” Jon doesn’t know where it has come from but his survival instinct is pumping through his nerves and he has never been so glad. He looks at the sad confused face of the ghost. He can see the outlines of its face clearer now. There aren’t necessarily more details, just sharper lines, like someone has cleaned a lens that is being used to look at it.

“I can teach you if you like?”

Jon doesn’t know why, but he lifts up his journal to show the ghost. He opens it to a page from a few months ago. On it he had poorly drawn a picture of the bioluminescent algae that he had seen. He’s no artist but it is fairly clear what it is.

“Look. This is like what you showed me. I can teach you what stars look like. I can draw them and you can learn until you understand. Then you can show me them and you can have me.”

The ghost takes one look at the page before smiling and lighting its eyes up with the snapshot of the algae again. Jon turns to another page. It is a picture of a shark that he drew on his first night at sea.

“What about this?”

The ghost’s eyes suddenly morph into a pair of perfect replica shark eyes. It is definitely jarring but also quite impressive.

Jon nods approvingly.

“Tomorrow I will teach you about the stars.”

The ghost seems to understand and backs away from Jon. The mist around him is beginning to fade and, in a panic he doesn’t quite understand, Jon carries on speaking.

“I’m Jon, by the way. That is my name.”

There is a soft humming noise from the ghost, then. Jon recognises it as a shanty they sometimes sing on board when they work.

He finds himself singing along in his head;

_I thought I heard the old man say_   
_John Ka-_

Jon’s thoughts short circuit. He could swear that as the name ‘John’ came up, the ghost had sung aloud. It goes back to humming to finish the verse but this time Jon is certain. Once again, the only word it sings aloud is his name.

He stares incredulously at the ghost as it fades into the night air. What on earth has he gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sea Shanty: John Kanaka


	3. Shark

The next evening rolls around and once again, Jon sneaks up onto the deck. He is surprised the see a soft trail of mist already trailing off around the corner. He finds the ghost hovering by the crates, waiting for him. When it sees Jon, its eyes flash briefly to shark eyes and it smiles. It sings his name too, as if it had clipped the single word from the centre of the song. It feels awkward and jilted but Jon can’t help but find it a little endearing.

This is a force of nature that had potentially killed hundreds of sailors but here it is pretending to have shark eyes to impress him.

Jon sits down by the crates with his journal.

Jon isn’t stupid. Jon doesn’t want to die. Jon has a plan.

“I would teach you about the stars today, but to understand the skies you must first understand what they watch over. So today I will teach you about the trees and forests.”

Jon draws trees and plants for hours. He explains that they need water and sunlight and that different plants can be used to build things. The ghost stares intently. Jon doesn’t know if it is really listening but as long as it doesn’t want to drag him to the bottom of the sea, he’s fine with any outcome.

Jon watches as the ghost’s translucent hands trace over the scratchy pictures Jon has drawn on the page. As it passes over the picture of a tree Jon can see its hand flicker.

That eerie humming begins again. It’s a sea shanty but this time Jon recognises it as _John Cherokee._

It hums through a verse until the very last word.

_“Green”_

Jon smiles and he closes the journal.

“Tomorrow we will do more.”

The ghost’s eyes flicker to a dull grey again and he watches it walk to the side of the boat. Something triggers in his brain and he realises that the ghost has never walked before. Until now, Jon could have sworn the ghost’s body always disappeared into mist but Jon can clearly see a torso and legs and the ghost is walking away.

The next day Jon tells the ghost about the people of the world. He tries not to feel a little sad as he explains how families work.

“So, I have a mother and a father but they died when I was young so my grandmother,” Jon follows along with his fingers on the jagged family tree he’s drawn, “looked after me. Families are there to look after each other. On this boat we are a sort of family too. We have to look after each other because the sea is dangerous for people.”

The ghost’s fingers trace the page and they flicker slightly. Jon hears the humming start up again. This time Jon recognises it as a verse from _Blood Red Roses_. He waits for the words to form but when they do, it sends ice shooting through his gut.

_“_ My darling son come home from sea _”_

Usually, the ghost’s voice sounds far away and gravelly like it has stolen the voice of one hundred sailors and put them all together. This time though, the voice is clear. Its voice is soft and certain. It sounds almost human.

“Do you have a name?”

The ghost looks sadder than ever.

“No”

Jon realises with a start that there is no humming. Just words. He flinches a little in surprise and the ghost’s eyes flash to a stormy dark blue as it backs away.

“I’m sorry.”

Before Jon can make an excuse, the mist vanishes and Jon is left alone again, shivering on the cold deck of the ship.

When Jon goes up the stairs the next day, he doesn’t actually expect to find the ghost there at all. Even more surprising is the relief that washes over him when the familiar mist is already curling around the crates.

Jon carefully sits down. The ghost is sitting with its back to him.

“I want to apologise. I didn’t mean to scare you yesterday. I was just surprised.”

The ghost says nothing and Jon finds himself worrying that he had hallucinated yesterday.

“Are you scared of me?”

The voice is almost a whisper and Jon barely catches it, but Jon doesn’t need to think about the answer.

“No.”

There is a moment of silence. Jon pulls out his journal but he hesitates.

“I know you said you don’t have a name but can I ask one more thing?”

The ghost nods.

“Were you – I’m sorry – but where you human once?”

“Once.”

Jon’s heart breaks a little. The word is spoken in defeat, like the ghost knows that, usually, people only get one chance at being human.

“Today I can teach you about the animals that live on land.”

The ghost nods and turns to face him. Jon sets to work explaining some basic animals.

“I had a dog.”

The ghost interrupts him mid-sentence.

Jon stops talking and watches as the ghost runs his hand over the half-drawn picture of a dog.

And then the dog vanishes.

Well, it doesn’t vanish. The ghost’s hand is just covering it. Usually the hand is translucent and flickering so Jon is not used to not seeing the pictures through it. To make sure he’s not making it up, Jon lays his own hand on top of the ghost’s.

The hand is cold, but it’s not the same life-sapping cold that Jon felt the first time. The ghost flinches and pulls his hand away.

Jon shrinks back slightly. “You had a dog?”

The ghost nods his head slowly.

“I had a mother and a dog. I remember.”

Jon waits with baited breath for him to continue but he doesn’t.

He just stands up and walks away. Jon watches as his body flickers and vanishes into the mist as if it was nothing. And yet his hand had felt so real.

Jon shakes his head to clear it and slinks back down to his bunk. He replays his conversation with the ghost over and over in his head.

Jon is surprised to find he actually misses him a little.

_Huh,_ Jon thinks, _when did the ghost go from an ‘it’ to a ‘him’?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sea Shanty: John Cherokee (Revised Version)  
>  Blood Red Roses


	4. Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a longer one to close with but I didn't have the heart to split it in two <3

Jon stops teaching as much after that. Mostly he just sits with the ghost and listens to his memories. The ghost had to listen to so much of Jon’s life and stories it only feels fair that Jon should respond in kind. There isn’t a moment where it all comes rushing back. His memories are patchy and come back to him like slowly like droplets. But Jon has another 2 months at sea to wait out so for once, time is on their side.

Jon finds out that the ghost died almost 40 years ago. He is from a small village in the North of England. He lived with his mother and his dog until his mum died and he ran away to be on the sea. There had been a massive storm and the entire crew had drowned but as he clung on to consciousness, the mist had rolled in and taken him. It becomes clear he remembers how to read and write and he remembers that he wrote poetry although he can usually only remember a line here and there. He finds out that he is kind and funny has a fondness for the oddest things.

The more they talk, the more solid the ghost becomes. Sometimes it’s an obvious change like ‘the ghost can hold a pen now,’ but other times he doesn’t realise the change immediately. Then he will suddenly become aware of the feeling of the ghost’s arm pressed against his, or he will feel his hair tickling his face as he leans in to read over Jon’s shoulder. Jon notices that he taps his fingers rhythmically on his leg when he tries to remember something. He still sometimes hums sea shanties under his breath but all the heartbreak that was in that hum is gone. Now the shanties just sound absent minded and content. Eventually, the only reminder that the ghost is not fully human are the two flashing eyes that never quite settle on a colour.

Unfortunately, the more human the ghost becomes the harder it is for Jon to ignore the odd feelings in his chest. He pushes them down. There are too many factors at play that make it completely inappropriate. The ghost deserves to figure out what being human means on his own. He doesn’t need Jon standing over him making him feel like he owes him something. 

Still, every day when the ghost leaves, Jon finds he misses him more. He finds himself making lists in his head of things he wants to talk about. When he sleeps, he misses the weight pressed into his side. He finds himself tracing the dry ink in his journal where the ghost has shakily written a line of poetry. With everything he knows now, the pain and sadness that had followed the ghost through his life right up until the end, Jon can’t help but think back to that first meeting. He can’t help but think about the overwhelming feeling that the ghost wanted to make him happy. Even after everything, even before he was certainly going to kill him. Jon had always been told that human stupidity was a constant of the universe but he was starting to wonder if human kindness was even stronger.

His name doesn’t come back to him. Jon tries all he can to prompt it but it stays muddy and lost.

One night, Jon goes up to the deck and he realises the mist surrounding the ghost has lessened significantly.

Jon hesitates. It feels so wrong to just refer to him as “the ghost”.

He carefully approaches him.

“Do you mind if I give you a name?”

The ghost shakes his head. Jon hesitates but he decided that probably means “no I don’t mind” so he continues.

“There’s a story I was once told, I can’t remember if it was true or not. There was a man in France and he left his wife and family for a time but instead of coming back, an intruder took his place. The intruder lived the man’s life, ate his food, lived in his house, and no one noticed. They all believed him to be that same man. Eventually someone picked up on it though and he was taken to court. It was only then that the real man returned to the village and the impostor was arrested. That man got his life taken from him and got a second chance. I think that’s… like you?”

Jon watches as the mist pulls in closer to the ghost.

“His name was Martin Guerre and… well I thought Martin sounded quite nice.”

Jon feels his voice falter as he watches the mist fade completely. Jon panics slightly, thinking Martin might disappear too, but he doesn’t. He looks more solid than ever. It’s like every colour on Martin just got a little brighter. The red of his sweater, the dark curls of his hair, the soft blush on the back of his neck. Jon’s heart speeds up.

Then he sees Martin begin to shake and the sound of a sob. Jon runs over. He circles round so he’s facing him. Martin is staring up at the sky with wide, human eyes and he is crying.

Jon doesn’t understand what to do so he just shifts awkwardly on the spot waiting for Martin to speak.

“I never thought I’d see the stars again. I just couldn’t get a hold of them. It’s like the see would never let me see what was above us.”

Then Martin looks at Jon and Jon forgets to breathe for a second. He is so used to the expressionless mirrors that used to look through him, it catches him off guard to have Martin actually looking at him.

Jon wants to cry. Martin’s eyes are bright and full of life. None of the grey mist remains anywhere near him. Jon pushes down all his feelings.

“I knew you’d like them.”

Martin smiles at that. Martin had smiled before. He was always full of expression and had always had a smile to give Jon in the dark of the evening. But this smile reaches Martin’s eyes and Jon thinks he might never be unhappy again.

Then, before he knows what’s happening, Martin is pulling him into a hug. Jon clutches to him as if his life depends on it. He breathes in the scent of the sea that still clings strongly to Martin’s sweater. Martin is taller than Jon but he finds he can bury his head comfortably into the space between Martin’s collar bone and his shoulder. Martin’s hands cling to Jon too. One hand rests at the back of Jon’s head and he cannot stop thinking about how nice it feels to have Martin’s hand softly stroking his hair.

Martin is the first one to pull way from the hug. Jon lets go, reluctantly.

“We pull into home port tomorrow. I’m not going to try and explain to Captain Bouchard why there’s an extra man aboard his ship so we are going to have to hide you for now.”

Martin looks at the ground. He seems so awkward like this. It almost makes Jon laugh. A few months ago, Jon had been terrified of him. He’d been a force of nature sent to drag Jon’s soul from his body at the bottom of the sea. Now he is just another human who has absolutely no idea what he is doing and he has the social skills to match, apparently.

“I have nowhere to go. I left everything behind nearly 40 years ago, Jon.”

Jon blushes slightly. “You could stay with me? For a bit? Not permanently, just until you can find a place of your own and a job.”

Martin looks worried and doesn’t say anything. Jon steps closer and gingerly takes Martin’s hand. “It’s no trouble, please. I’m not going to leave you stranded and scared in a world I basically dragged you in to.”

Martin smiles softly. “It’s a little arrogant of you to assume I would have allowed myself to be dragged back if it wasn’t exactly what I wanted.”

A shiver runs up Jon’s spine and he decides to blame the cold wind. He pulls his hand from Martin’s carefully with an awkward laugh. “Um ok we have to hide you. I have an idea come with me.”

Jon sneaks Martin down below decks to a small room towards the stern of the ship, past the crew’s quarters.

“They keep extra sails in here so they barely ever unload it. Once we get to shore, we should be able to get you out and on to land without being seen. Also, I hope the sails are a little comfier at least than hiding between boxes.”

Martin wanders into the room and settles against the wall in a far corner where a damaged sail is crumpled up.

“Thank you, Jon.” Martin looks almost sad as Jon just nods awkwardly and turns to leave the room.

The way the evening has run, Jon is in bed a lot earlier than usual and he finds himself tossing and turning. He thinks about Martin, alone in the sail room. He thinks of how cold he was when they first met, and how scared he looks every time Jon flinches away from him.

He makes a stupid decision. He quietly gathers up his blankets and pillows and sneaks back to the sail room.

When he opens the door, Martin starts but he immediately relaxes when he sees it’s Jon.

Jon steels himself and walks over to the corner. He dumps the blankets down on top of martin and sits down next to him.

“I thought you might be cold,” he starts to spread the blankets over them, “also I wasn’t sure you would want to be alone.”

Jon continues to fuss over the blankets, not wanting to look Martin in the face but after about a minute of getting nothing but silence as an answer, Jon starts to get worried and he looks up.

Martin is smiling at him so softly the heat immediately rushes to Jon’s face.

“What?”

Martin blushes like he’s been caught doing something indecent.

“Usually about now is the time we talk about memories from the past or on land. It feels weird to break routine on the last night.”

Jon nods and leans slightly into Martin’s side. This isn’t a weird position for them. The only difference is that they are under warm blankets instead of on the hard, cold ship’s deck. Martin continues speaking.

“There’s a feeling I remember. I only really felt it once before, I think. There was a boy when I was maybe twenty. He was a baker’s son and if you went into the baker’s shop early enough you could see him in the back, kneading dough. I remember thinking how strong his arms looked and how beautiful his hair was lit up by the early morning glow. Eventually I managed to catch him outside and we got chatting. He was smart, turned out, and funny. We would spend hours a day together just sitting and talking. Sometimes we would just sit in each other’s company in silence. I would look at him like he hung the stars and he would kiss me like I was made of sugar. Then one day he got on a ship. There was a storm and I never saw him again.”

Jon buries his face into Martin’s chest to hide the tears on his face. He doesn’t even know when or why he started crying but he knows he doesn’t want Martin to see.

“Why would you tell me this?”

Martin brings a hand to the base of Jon’s neck and sighs a little.

“So that you don’t think that I don’t know what love is.”

Jon freezes against Martin. He has absolutely no idea how to react. His brain immediately starts catastrophising. Then, Martin drops a soft kiss onto the crown of his head and his mind goes blissfully silent.

He sits up.

“Martin… I don’t want to take things too far. I don’t want to lose you to messy emotions that I can definitely keep under control if needs be. You are still adjusting back to reality and your memories are still dripping back to you. I don’t want you to think that I’m taking advantage or”

Martin cuts him off with a kiss. It is just a peck and it’s right on the edge of his lips but it completely shatters Jon’s already paper-thin resolve. He plants his hands on the sides of Martin’s face and kisses him desperately.

When they pull apart, Jon tries to scooch backwards but Martin just pulls him back into his chest and Jon can do nothing but melt into the embrace.

Martin quietly starts to hum a sea shanty and Jon can feel the vibrations echoing through his chest. Jon recognises it and tries to sing the words in his head but, with the combination of Martin’s soft humming and the slow rocking of the boat, he slips into a blissful sleep before the verse is finished.

_Oh, have you heard the news, me Johnny_ __  
One more day  
We're homeward bound tomorrow  
One more day  
Only one more day, me Johnny  
One more day  
Oh, rock and roll me over  
One more day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sea Shanty: One More Day
> 
> GUYS thank you so much for reading! please leave a comment if u vibed this <3
> 
> Find me on twitter or tumblr @ thunderfcknroad for more folklore and TMA feelings mostly. I'm a sucker for prompts and write drabbles on my blog when i have time so do send ideas my way. Another shoutout to the writers discord for being wonderful and enabling this fic!
> 
> Also congrats to TMA for winning best audio drama it is well deserved!


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